


Hold me now

by Half_Fallen



Series: In my veins [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Depression, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protectiveness, Rape/Non-con Elements, Unrequited Love, Violence, the first chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-04-16 15:07:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4629849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Half_Fallen/pseuds/Half_Fallen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robert is abusive, Marco is in love. Mario is there to pick up the pieces. You know the story, but you don't know his story.</p><p> </p><p>Or: Mario falls in love with his best friend Marco, but he's too afraid to tell him because of the fear of being rejected. Then a certain Lewy comes along, turning everything around.</p><p>Note: This story is part of a series, it could be perfectly read as a stand alone, but it would make more sense if you also read "I come to you in pieces". :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! Finally! I thought that Mario deserves have his story too. :) Anyway, thanks to everyone who read my previous story, commented and left kudos. You're awesome guys, really. This story is not beta-ed by the way, so if there's any grammar or spelling mistake I'm sorry.
> 
> Ok, let's get down to business, shall we?
> 
> This story is going to have three parts. The first part is going to be a close up to Mario and Marco's relationship when they are young, the second part will be Mario's pov on the things that happen during Marco and Robert's relationship and the third and final part will include Marco' recovery. Again the age difference is the same: Mario is a year younger than Marco and Robert is a year older than Marco.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

_“I’ll always be by your side, no matter what, cause I’m your best friend and you’re mine.” A nine years old Marco says, taking Mario’s hand in his and keeping it warm. Mario smiles sweetly at him, showing his missing front tooth and Marco smiles back at him brushing off some hair falling in Mario’s eyes._

_“Promise?” Mario’s eyes are full of childish hope, fragile and yet brave._

_“Promise.” Marco says surely, there’s determination in his voice and he is convinced that there will never be something to break them apart._

_But not every promise is made to be kept…_

A chubby 5 years old Mario frowns as he sees the boys in front of him playing football. They hadn’t let him play, because they had insisted that he was ‘too young’ and they couldn’t have a baby play ‘grown up’ football. Mario sulks from under the tree he’s standing, frowning even more as one a guy scores a goal and celebrates it with the others.

 

He was five years old, he was not a baby anymore! But his pout however, turns into surprise when suddenly there’s a ball at his feet. He lifts his eyes in wonder and finds a boy around his age standing in front of him. He’s slightly taller than Mario, with blonde hair and curious eyes and he actually looks quite friendly. The boy smiles, showing his dimples and Mario gets the sudden urge to befriend the mysterious guy in front of him.

 

“Wanna play?” He says, still smiling and Mario remembers why he is sitting under a tree. He pouts again and lowers his head and manages to mumble: “No.”

 

The other boy is quiet for a while and Mario for a bit wonders if the boy already left, until he hears him again: “They are jerks if they didn’t let you play. But you can play with me, come on.” He smiles again and Mario wonders: who is this guy and how did he know? The boy extracts a hand towards him. “I’m Marco.” His smile is somehow contagious and it makes Mario smile without even knowing.

 

“Mario.” He says.

 

 

*

 

“I’m not really sure about this.” A nine years old Mario says judging the height of the wall in front of him. It was Sunday afternoon and a bunch of kids were gathered together as they always did during summer vacations. It was August and even though the weather had cooled down a bit with the sun almost setting, the yellowish-orange sun rays still burned in a way.

 

“What, are you afraid Götze?” A nasty-looking 10-years old boy -whose name Mario finds difficult to remember- says, scrunching his freckled nose up in disgust. Mario blushes and opens his mouth to protest, but is quickly cut off by Marco who sneers:

 

“Why don’t you show us how it’s done, huh Hans? Or are you too much of a coward to jump?” Marco stands in front of Mario, ready to jump at Hans’ throat and the boy, even though twice Marco’s size, gulps and starts sweating and fiddling with his fingers and Mario finds it funny, but at the same time thoughtful of his friend to be protecting him like this. He suddenly gets the urge to laughthe boy, but holds his tongue.

 

“I-I would M-Marco, but I just ate and my m-mom, she says it’s no good t-”He starts stuttering, but is cut off by Marco who impatiently retorts:

 

“Oh, shut up! You’re just a coward that’s what. I’ll do it myself.” Without thinking he climbs on top of the wall. It’s not a very high one, but in that very moment, in Mario’s eyes Marco is a hero.

 

He jumps and lands bravely on his feet and all the boys around circle him and cheer, but he only smiles at Mario. The yellowish-orange sun rays tangle themselves on Marco’s golden hair, caress his face sweetly and in that moment he reflects everything that Mario wants to be, everything that he loves and adores.

 

*

 

As the years pass, Marco and Mario grow more attached together to the point where Mario’s mom calls Marco ‘son’. He spends more time at Mario’s than his own house and even Fabian had come to a point where he had started joking that Mario loves Marco more than him. The thing was that Marco’s parents were rarely home, always busy and occupied with work and business trips, but Marco didn’t mind, in fact he kinda liked that cause it meant he would be free to spend more time with Mario.

 

They shared everything together; their clothes, their secrets, their food, even their bed (cause Mario’s bed was enough for both of them and he was warm and Marco liked to cuddle) and even though Fabian finds it weird and has made a couple of remarks on that, Mario and Marco don’t mind, cause to them it’s how it has always been.

 

It works like this: If Marco has a new hat and Mario likes it, Marco gives it to him. If Mario wants the last slice of pizza, Marco gives it to him. If Mario is cold, Marco gives him his jacket or his scarf, not caring how cold it is. Some people may ask what Marco gets from this and some of them even dare to comment about Mario using him somehow, but the truth is that Marco, being the oldest one of them, feels the responsibility to look after Mario and take care of him while making sure that nothing or no one dares to disturb him or make him worry. It’s a simple philosophy: If Mario is happy then Marco is happy too.

 

 

One day Mario comes home with a black eye and a bruised cheekbone. He hurries upstairs, not wanting his parents to see him like this and enters his room trying to make as less noise as possible. He finds Marco on his bed, reading a book. (well, that’s new – he thinks.)

 

“Oh, hey Mario. I found this book and it’s absolutely-’’ Marco raises his head to tell his friend about this amazing book he’s been occupying himself with when he stops dead in his tracks as he looks at Mario’s face. His smile fades, his eyes turn murderous and for a moment he looks a totally different person. Mario gulps, he had never seen Marco like this before.

 

“Mario, who did this to you?” Marco talks slowly, each word hitting Mario like a slap and Mario lowers his eyes wanting to avoid his terrifying graze. He doesn’t want Marco fighting for him, getting hurt because of him. Today they were four, God knows what they would do to Marco. He feels him move up from the bed and come in front of him, but he doesn’t lift his eyes from the ground.

 

“Mario.” Marco’s fingers lift his chin and his eyes travels his features looking for damage and Mario suddenly gets this weird feeling at the pit of his stomach that doesn’t have anything to do with the kicks he took earlier. Marco’s voice is gentle and concerned and Mario really feels bad for lying to him, but he really doesn’t have a choice.

 

“I-I fell.” He manages to stutter, but Marco doesn’t look convinced. He’s so close… Mario’s breath hitches in his throat and Marco finally lets go of his face and backs away.

 

“Yeah right.” He disappears downstairs and Mario sits on his bed, totally exhausted and confused till’ Marco comes a few minutes later with an icepack on his hand.

 

“Here, if you’re not going to tell me who did this to you, at least hold this to your face.” He says and Mario gets up wincing in pain, pretty sure that there might be other bruises forming under his clothes, waiting for Marco to pass the icepack to him. That never happens though, because Marco instead inspects his face closer, kisses the nasty bruise and his black eye and then gently places the icepack on Mario’s face.

 

That had been a habit between the two since they were 6. Mario would fall or get hurt and Marco would always smile and kiss it better or vice versa. Some people would have found it strange or even inappropriate, but Mario and Marco didn’t, because to them it meant to be there and to care for each other.

 

Marco stays over that night, following Mario around with concerned looks despite him telling Marco a million times that he was fine. In the morning Marco is acting weird and when Mario asks him if he’s coming over, he doesn’t respond, but Mario shrugs it off as something that’s got to do with his parents and continues with his day.

 

 

It’s 5 p.m. and Mario hasn’t heard from him all day. He tries his phone a few times, but when he doesn’t respond is when Mario gets really concerned. So he decides to go to his house, which isn’t really far away, just a minute or two, but when he gets there he’s out of breath and his face is flushed.

 

He knocks on the door, but no one answers so Mario pulls his spare key from his left pocket and opens the door. It’s dark and quiet and a bit chilly too considering that it’s the middle on November, but Mario can tell that Marco’s here by the shoes at the door and his school bag thrown carelessly on a corner.

 

“Marco?” No answer. “Marco, it’s me Mario.” Still nothing.

 

Mario is wandering around the house, but Marco is nowhere to be seen. Marco’s room is last place he hasn’t checked yet.”Marco, this isn’t funny.” He says and opens the door, only to be shocked by what’s behind.

 

Marco lies on his bed, his back against the bedpost, one arm wrapped around his ribs and the other hand holding his jaw. His face is dripping with blood and Mario instantly panics.

 

“Marco! Marco, oh my God! What happened to you?” He rushes towards him, worry showing on his face, anger building up and he swears he’s ready to take down any bastard who did this.

 

“Mario I-” Marco tries to sit up, but stops midway, his vision gets blurry and he gasps in pain, holding his ribs tighter.

 

“No, no don’t move, sit down.”  He helps him lay down again, wincing as he gasps again and lets out a strangled cry. Mario keeps staring at him, looking down at him with such worry and even under his cloud of dizziness Marco can feel the inevitable question forming on Mario’s throat.

 

“What happened to you?” There’s silence and Marco can feel his eyes tracing his face. A bleeding nose, a bruised cheekbone, a black swollen eye, and maybe the list continues with his body.

 

Just the thought makes Mario ten times worried, and he swears within himself that if Marco wasn’t in his state he’d kill him.

 

“I fell.” Marco tries to mock him, mimicking poorly his voice and laughing at his own joke until a couple of seconds after that he starts coughing violently while trying to hold the side of his ribs. Mario only sighs then, and exits the room to go find the first aid kit.

 

 

When he returns, worried sick and nearly having a heart attack for the second time that day, Marco is lying on the bed with his eyes closed, humming a tune that he hasn’t heard before. He sits on the bed, right next to him and waits. Marco opens his eyes staring at the ceiling and then at Mario. He smiles at him tenderly, even now that he’s hurting all over and Mario wonders for a bit where does Marco find all of this strength.

 

“I’m gonna need you to sit up, ok? Can you manage that?” Mario says in a hushed tone, something just right above a whisper and Marco simply nods and his arms leave his ribs in an attempt to raise his body carefully, although that doesn’t stop the small grunts and winces of pain from escaping his lips.

 

Mario gets fast to work then, secure and sure on what he’s doing, even though he doesn’t know anything about medicine and he has only done this a small number of times before. All of those included a bunch of older boys making fun of him and him lashing out at them. Yeah, not a very pleasant picture to be honest. However he had also noticed that this affected Marco a lot. He knew Marco wouldn’t think twice before starting a fight with them, so he had tried to keep it down and pretend it was an accident, that he fell, or that he was clumsy and his feet couldn’t keep his chubby body up. It wasn't a solution, but he couldn't even think about risking Marco in any way. Last night’s bruises still hurt, but Mario wouldn’t let any of it show, at least not in front of Marco. He cared too much for his best friend to do that.

 

Marco winces just as Mario is cleaning his bloody nose. “Shit, sorry.” Mario apologizes and tries to work as tenderly possible. They are so close he can feel Marco’s breath on his lips and it makes his own stuck in his throat. He moves away, afraid of his actions and focuses his attention on Marco’s bloody knuckles.

 

“I swear to God I’m gonna kill whoever did this to you.” Mario says under his breath and Marco chuckles above him. “Like you did yesterday?” Mario blushes.

 

“I-I fell I told you-”

 

“Yeah, yeah keep telling yourself that.” There’s amusement in Marco’s voice, nothing like mockery or ridicule, and Mario doesn’t feel like he’s being laughed at. It’s just Marco -Mario notes- and Marco was never good with words.

 

“You could have told me you know. I still found out, but at least I wouldn’t have had to find out from Marcel.” Now there’s simply sadness and disappointment in his voice now, and it makes Mario lower his eyes and feel guilty. But then it hits him.

 

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

 

“I couldn’t let them get away with that!”

 

“There were four of them!”

 

“THERE WERE WHAT?” There it is. Marco’s face turns dark, his eyes worried and suddenly Mario is the hurt one and Marco is the one checking for damage.

 

“I’m ok, stop it.” Mario says angrily, trying to push Marco’s hands away from him. He feels pissed at Marco for doing something like this.

 

“Are you hurt anywhere else, do you feel any pain?”

 

“Marco.” Mario warns him.

 

“Do you?” Marco’s eyes are frantically looking over his face, his body and it makes Mario feel a little self-conscious and he tries to get away from his pointed gaze.

 

“Yes, but I took care of them, I’m ok!… Look, I don’t want you to get hurt because of me. I can deal with them myself-”

 

“Just like you always did?” Marco’s tone is accusing at first, but then it softens and he sighs. “Sunny, I know you since forever, and I guess I can say that I know you well. I know this has been going on for a while and I know that you can deal with it on your own … you just don’t have to. I’m here ok?” And then Mario really understands that whatever stupidy Marco does, he does it for him, to keep him safe and that gives him once again a fuzzy warm feeling inside.

 

“But I don’t want you to get hurt.” He objects again, and it is stupid and childish because Marco is still going to get into fights for him for him, no matter what he says or does.

 

“That’s what brothers are for.” And that’s the final strike, making Mario feel guilty and ashamed of himself once again.

 

“I’m gonna get you some ice.” He says and lowers his eyes to the ground as he stands up shyly. Marco looks up at him with that lopsided smile and dimples showing.

 

“What, no kissing it better?” Mario blushes, that bastard.

 

 

*

 

 

Mario was twelve, his face still round with childhood chubbiness and eyes still soft and childlike, yet he was way too smart and understanding for his age. He has often heard the elders talk about some people, certain people being ‘gay’. And this word, as Mario has quietly observed, is most commonly said in hushed tones and through judgmental eyes, as if people were afraid. Sometimes it’s shouted out loud, Mario notices, through another type of a word, more offensive and so ugly that Mario flinches thinking about it. He’s not so sure about what if means, his child mind only having created a foggy idea about the meaning, but it makes mothers cry and hang their head in shame, it makes the fathers turn red with anger and shout ugly things at their sons who never proved to be worthy of their parents, and as Mario thinks it through he says: ‘Maybe it is a bad thing…. No, I would never be able to do something like this to my parents.’

 

He has heard Fabian make remarks on this too, and has heard him use the offensive word more than once, through a snicker or a glare full of disgust, pointing at someone with a certain attitude (and Mario would stare at them for a long time, trying to understand how this person was so different from him or other normal people.) Fabian would explain to him later what they ‘did’, how it was disgusting and how they were a disgrace to their families and the society. He would understand it then, he would understand that what ‘they’ did was  not right or acceptable by any means in society through a single explanation, although he couldn’t come to conclusion of one simple question for days.

 

Why?

 

If loving someone of your own gender would hurt everyone around, then why would they do that? Did they not care about their friends and family anymore? Did they like to see them hurt? Weren’t they hurting too? Because in Mario’s mind love was supposed to be something beautiful, that brings peace to everyone and makes everyone happy. But then again –Mario thinks,- if love would really bring peace to everyone then he wouldn’t be learning about World War 1 and 2 in school.

 

No, -he’d say then- no one wants to be disowned put away from their families. Maybe it was not ‘right’, but Mario couldn’t bring himself to see it as something disgusting or revolving as one would say… just not ‘right’ (although he still has his doubts about what’s right and what’s wrong).

 

A twelve year old Mario fumbles for days with words and matters that are bigger than him, but even in this age he’s smarter and wiser than people a lot older than him.

 

 

 

 

Half a year later a lot of things change. He’s taller, faster, his body had grown up quite nicely although he’s still a little chubby, but his mom says it runs in the family. He has not changed only physically, but mentally as well and when he first notices certain feelings blossom through his chest, they leave him shocked and confused, without a guide or direction, with only his mind screaming at him to come to senses.

 

It starts the year that Marco is a freshman in high school. They don’t get to spend any time together during school so Mario and Marco spend every afternoon together at each others’ houses. He starts having these weird feelings at his stomach whenever he’s with Marco and he first shrugs them off as signs of sickness, like a flu or a cold, but after days of feeling good and potentially showing no signs of being sick, he starts doubting and after a while he creates an idea of what they might be. To say that they leave him shocked would definitely be an understatement.

 

 He can’t be possibly starting to have feelings for his best friend Marco! Marco of all people! Marco, whom he had known since forever. Marco, who was always protecting him and looking after him. Marco, who he shared and did everything with. Marco, the person he adored deeply for his confidence, strength and bluntness.

 

His dimples, and smile, and his obsession with his hair, the way Mario fit perfectly in his arms whenever they cuddled, his self-confidence and stubbornness, his pretending to be afraid of nothing, the way his tone would change whenever he addressed to Mario and his special nickname ‘Sunny’, his smell (fresh and a little bit spicy and… just Marco), the way he would always insist for them to sleep in the same bed –because what’s the fuss with sleep bags anyway- and cause they were practically brothers, how he would be sleeping on the left side of the bed and Mario would always wake up to his arms wrapped around him, his lazy ‘good mornings’ and fluffy bed hair. He catches himself noticing every little detail of Marco’s existence (he feels funny putting it like that) and he almost feels like he’s in one of those National Geographic programs.

 

 And yeah, now that he thinks of it, he’s actually far gone for Marco and that hits him the worst way possible.

 

Mario is thirteen and Marco is fourteen and Mario hates himself for not being able to stop himself from falling in love with his best friend.

 

 

*

 

 

It’s December, their favorite time of the year. Dortmund is covered in snow and the sound of children playing on it. It’s one of those days when Marco knocks on his door at 8 am –too early to even exist, Mario would say- wearing his coat and gloves, cheeks flushed and mouth hidden behind a scarf, eyes shinny as ever, asking Mario to join him on a snow fight. He noticed that Marco’s hairare as perfect as ever and that makes him smile internally.

 

Mario looks at him dumbfounded, still in his PJ and wondering what the hell got over this walking muffin so early in the morning and why is he smiling at Mario like he’s the freaking sun.

 

“I asked you if you wanted to join me for a snow fight.” Marco repeats and Mario thinks that maybe he’s just too grumpy to deal with anything.

 

“A snow fight? At this ungodly hour? Are you out of your mind?” Marco continues standing at his door looking at him with amusement and Mario mentally face-palms, because where are his manners today?

 

“It’s eight o’clock in the morning, it’s like midday. C’mon!” Damn Marco and his ability to be a morning person. If it was up to him 2 pm would be the ideal time to have a pleasant morning. Sometimes he wonders how come he even makes it to school in time every day.

 

“I don’t really have a say in this, do I?” He sighs, the battle’s lost.

 

“Nope.” Marco’s smile gets bigger, and so does Mario’s frown. That cheeky bastard! Mario finally lets Marco in and heads upstairs to grab his coat.

 

“I really hate you, you know?” He yells from his room as Marco grabs a cookie from a plate in the kitchen’s table.

 

“I love you too.” He yells back.

 

 

 

When he manages to get out of the front door, he looks like a giant pile of clothes and Marco has to bit his tongue to stop himself from laughing. He does anyway, and earns himself a punch in the arm from Mario. (Not hurtful in any way, though. He would never be able to do that Marco.)

 

Marco tugs at his blue coat and says: “Hey Mario, why so blue today?” He cracks into a fit of laughter and giggles and Mario rolls his eyes annoyed.

 

“Shut up, you insisted that I didn’t have enough clothes on!” Mario huffs and watches as his breath comes out in smoke shapes.

 

“Because I could never let my precious little baby catch a cold.” Marco retorts and turns to catch his cheeks in a babyish manner. Mario ducks away and hides his flushing cheeks in his scarf.

 

 

 

They pair up together and build a snow barricade. Soon snowballs cascade on them and they answer at the other guys with the same fury of snowballs.

 

“MARIO!!! I’VE BEEN HIT!!” Marco shrieks suddenly and Mario turns his head to see Marco on the ground, with traces of snow in his chest area.

 

“Hold me Mario! Hold me! I’M DYING!!” Marco shouts dramatically and Mario laughs, but goes and holds him nonetheless.

 

“I can’t feel my legs.” Marco continues and Mario laughs. “Help me, friend.” Now Marco fakes a strangled whisper and Mario laughs harder.

 

“You know Marco, sometimes you have to be your own savior.” He laughs and stares at him with those big brown eyes and flushed cheeks and something in Marco’s eyes changes.

 

 

*

 

 

“What do you think of people of the same gender loving each other?” Marco breaks the silence suddenly and it catches Mario by surprise. They are at Mario’s room during a rainy September afternoon, bored out of their minds. Mario lies at his bed, his back against the headboard while Marco is sitting on the ground next to Mario’s bed fiddling with some gloves he found under the bed.

 

“Nothing at all.” Mario retorts uninterested, but wondering nonetheless about the reason of this sudden question.

 

“What do you mean?”Marco asks.

 

“I mean, I’ve got nothing against them, really. Hating someone because they’re different from you is something stupid if you’d ask me.” Mario says again and Marco seems silent for a moment. “What do you think?” He asks, intrigued to know how Marco will answer.

 

“Same.” Marco answers simply and Mario feels strangely relieved.

 

There’s silence between them for quite a long time, the topic clearly not wanted by neither of them and it lets Mario get lost in his mind until Marco breaks it for a second time.

 

“I think I like someone.” It comes shy and somewhat disinterested, but it hits Mario like a tidal wave and he turns to look at the window and focuses on the little droplets hitting the glass.

 

“Great.” He says, but his voice betrays him and he bites his lip to stop the tears that threaten to fall. “I guess she must be pretty.”

 

“Yeah… She is.” Marco says hesitantly, his voice unreadable and after a while they are lost in their thoughts once again, leaving between them nothing but the sound of thunder and rain.

 

 

*

 

 

Marco doesn’t start dating anyone after that night, nor his attitude changes, but Mario can feel something off, something he can’t put a finger at.

 

He knew that a day like this would come and it is really stupid of him to get attached or feel betrayed in any way because the truth is that Marco was never his in any way other than friendship and he mentally scowls at himself every time for the long stares or the false hopes he creates for himself. He tries hard to push his feelings away and tries to make the most of it, busying himself in studies all the time he’s not with Marco.

 

Mario is fourteen and Marco is fifteen and Mario forces himself to believe that everything will be okay, that they don’t have to be lovers for him to feel loved and complete. He believes that he is able to control his selfish wants and needs and that Marco being happy is what really matters.

 

 

_Then a certain Lewy comes along…_


	2. Losing Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, well that took a while to update!  
> First off, I'm sorry that it took me so long to update. It's just that things got in the way and school started and I really didn't have time to sit down and write. I'm updating this one day before my birthday and I hope that you guys are still around to read this even though it took me more than a week to update.  
> I hope you'll like this chapter and I'm also sorry if there are any grammar mistakes because this isn't grammar beta-ed.Anyway let me know. 
> 
> Also millions of thanks to lunasenzanotte for accepting to be my beta. You're awesome my dear, thank you. Go read her stories she's a wonderful writer.  
> Enjoy!

 

“Mario, this is Lewy.” Marco says with a content smile and shiny eyes and Mario finally takes a look at the mythical ‘Lewy’ that Marco won’t shut up for days. Marco looks happy and giggly, and Mario hasn’t seen him like this in a long time. He drinks in Lewy’s appearance: The boy is taller than him, more muscular and built up than Mario ever dreams to be, he has defined cheekbones and a jaw line to cut glass while Mario still hasn’t got rid of his childhood chubbiness. He probably has a six pack where Mario has a tummy and his stare is so sure and demanding, almost menacing in a mysterious way that gives Mario the chills. He can understand, now, why Marco likes Lewy and not him, because Lewy is anything he ever dreams to be and everything he will never be. He shifts on his feet, feeling numb where he’s standing and his stare switches to Marco, his silly little Marco, who is staring up at this boy with so much love and adoration and Mario smiles sadly, slowly realizing that he never really had a chance. Marco was never his all along.

Their Friday movie nights slowly turn into Mario’s movie nights and their Fifa afternoons turn into Leweus dates and Mario realizes that he’s losing Marco, slowly and painfully, and it hurts in an unimaginable way. He starts seeing himself for what he is: ‘not worthy of his love’ and ‘not enough’ for him or anyone, because Marco is the only person he has ever loved or wanted in any way possible and without him he doesn’t feel capable of loving or existing. Because Marco is all he ever feels or breathes.

It’s simple in a complicated way, Marco is all he is. 

A sensation locked in a bottle of glass, slowly drifting away for him to never reach.

He starts staring at Robert with envy for all the long stares or adorable smiles, Marco’s attention or the kisses and unsaid words which Mario knows fairly well are only one breath away of confessing. But mostly he envies him for the way he has turned a rebel and undefeated Marco into a willing young boy in love… something Mario never could.

 

“Sometimes, maybe you just have to let another person take care of you.” Marco had said once after he had asked.

“But you never let me take care of you.” Mario had said frowning slightly, but Marco had been quick to reassure him with a sweet smile and a pat on the shoulder.

“That’s because it’s my job to take care of you, Sunny.” And Mario flips at the word ‘job’.

“I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything Marco. You don’t have to be my babysitter; I can take care of myself. I don’t want to be a burden.” He had mumbled frustrated and suddenly angry, because he didn’t want Marco to stay with him because he felt obligated or because he was too polite to tell him off.

“Is that how you really feel about this Sunny? Do you really feel like you’re a burden to me or that I don’t want you anymore?” His expression had changed into a sad one, his eyes full of concern and sadness, mixed with another fogged emotion that Mario couldn’t make out. His remembers his heart sinking in his chest as Marco had lifted a hand to rest on his cheek and his eyes had locked with his and like any other time Mario had found it hard to breathe.

“Oh, Sunny. You don’t have to feel like a burden to me. You’re not holding me back, you never were, and I swear to God that I would never do something to hurt you, on contrary; I would protect you with my life if needed, because you mean a lot to me. Please, promise me to never feel this way again.” He had finished his tiny speech with a smile and Mario hadn’t stopped himself then:

“You know, this whole Lewy thing has made you a lot touchy-feely lately.” He had said with a shit eating grin.

“You little shit.” And the moment was gone, vanished through a daze of screaming and ridiculous shouting of two boys that chased each other with pillows on their hands and smiles on their faces.

 

He can feel them growing apart as time passes. Marco changes in a way Mario isn’t able to explain, and he slowly turns into a form of himself Mario as never seen. It starts with him spacing out most of the time Mario’s talking, becoming more pensive, deeply lost in his thoughts whenever they are not having a conversation and Mario first shrugs it off as love symptoms, but then he loses his smile and the shine in his eyes fades along with his jokes and pranks. Robert is weird around him too, Mario notices, he’s suddenly passively aggressive and menacing in a quite frightening way, like he could kill Mario at every given opportunity and Mario doesn’t know what to make of it.

Although it’s not until Marco comes to school with a nasty bruise imprinted on him that Mario realizes that something is really wrong.

“Marco, what happened to you?” Mario asks, pointing at the purple bruise on Marco’s cheek.

“Oh, that.” He lowers his eyes. “That’s nothing, I just, was being clumsy yesterday.” He’s lying, Mario thinks, he’s lying. He was never a good liar.

“Marco, look at me.” Mario says slowly and Marco does as he’s told. “Did someone do that to you?”

“No, I told you I was searching for something and then I-” Marco rushes with his words, but Mario cuts him off midway.

“Does Lewy know?” Marco freezes and looks around.

“Does Lewy know what?” Now Marco’s looking at everything expect Mario, and Mario’s mind goes wild with guesses until…

“Marco… did Lewy do this to you?” It’s just a guess, just a wild guess spilled out by mistake, but when he sees the way Marco’s eyes lower to the ground again he doesn’t want to believe it.

“N-no.”  Mario grabs his chin and looks him straight in the eye. “Marco.”

“It was an argument, he didn’t mean it. It was-” And then Mario snaps, his world turns black and anger fills his veins.

“HE DID WHAT?” His hands ball into fists. His Marco, he thinks.

“Mario calm down, it happens, he didn’t mean it.”

“No, Marco. It doesn’t happen, it doesn’t have to happen. If he hits you now, then what’s he gonna do next? Lock you up, beat you to death? I’m gonna kill that bastard. I swear to God that I’m gonna kill him.” He’s to the point of shouting now and Marco grabs his arms and looks him in the eye and Mario momentarily relaxes under his touch.

“It was a mistake. It happens to everyone.” His voice is gentle and his eyes are sorry and Mario’s heart clenches in his chest.

“I would never do that to you.” He whispers and he feels like crying. He would never do anything to harm Marco in any way, but the sad truth is that Marco would never love him. Not in the way it counts.

 

The rest of it is blurred, almost like a fantasy, like it never really happened. He remembers Robert finding them, not being happy at all, his blood getting to his head, rushing through his ears.

“What’s wrong with you?” He shouts at him and Robert looks surprised for a bit, but that is quickly washed away with anger. He looks at Marco instead, a frown taking over his face.

“What are you doing here?” He yells at Marco and he instantly pales. Oh no, Mario thinks, there’s no way he’s getting away with that.

“Hey, who do you think you’re talking to?” Mario gets in front of him, blocking Marco from the view.

“I’m not going to discuss this with you.” Robert retorts with a disgusted tone, like Mario isn’t even worth an explanation. “Marco, we’re going home.” He orders and Marco silently sits up from where he’s standing. Marco doesn’t even say anything, he doesn’t protest at all, Mario notices. _Look at what he has done to him._ A voice whispers to him.

“He’s not going anywhere! You can’t boss him around!” But Robert acts like doesn’t even exist and that angers Mario beyond belief. “Marco, we’re going.” He orders, his voice full of authority and Marco looks torn and helpless between the two.

“Marco, we’re going.”

“No you’re not.” Mario spits the words out like venom and pushes Robert. Robert catches him by his shirt and pulls him close.

“Listen here and listen well, you little shrimp.” He spits out, his eyes turning murderous and his nostrils flaring up in anger. “I don’t give a fuck about you and him being best friends since you were little and you better leave us alone. He’s my boyfriend and he will do as I say.” Anger darkens his eyes and in the background he can hear Marco pleading to let him go.

“I’m gonna cut you to pieces.” He says and throws a punch at Robert. The rest is predictable. Robert turning at him with fury, throwing punch after punch, Mario trying to fight back, Marco’s screams, himself being smashed to the ground, everything that hurts, Robert’s fist on his jaw and his colliding with Robert’s nose. Then Marco tries to get between them, but Robert pushes and throws him harshly to the ground. Mario’s senses wake then and he turns at Robert with a strength he never knew he had, kneeing him in the stomach, punching him on the ribs, throwing hit after hit. But just as it looks like he’s winning Robert kicks him in the stomach, hard. He lays unmovable then as Robert kicks him repeatedly, growling and swearing the dirtiest words at him.

 

It is proven to him once again that he is no match to the almighty Robert Lewandowski and his heart sinks in his chest as he thinks about Marco. He can vaguely hear his sobs somewhere in the background. His voice is distant and his aching mind can barely make out the sound, but it’s there nonetheless and it makes his feel like the lowest creature on the earth. If he can’t protect the ones he love then what kind of person is he? Robert stands above him, his face scrunched up in disgust. Weird, Mario thinks, it suits him with all those cuts and bruises.

“Come on Marco, we’re going.” Robert orders and Marco gets on his feet wiping his tears with the back of his hand, looking at Robert with eyes full of fear and then at Mario who’s sprawled to the ground bleeding and bruised. That moment seems to go on forever as he stands there, torn between the two, loving both but having to choose.

“I said we’re going.” Robert barks and Marco lowers his eyes to the ground and follows him after.

 

 

 

Marco doesn’t come to school the next day or the day after, or the day after and deep down inside Mario knows that something is really wrong.

It goes on like this for like a week until Mario decides to go and meet Marco himself. He gathers his courage and knocks on his door, half asking himself how come he is anxious when he has done this a million times already. No one answers the door at first and Mario knocks again thinking about leaving, but then he hears the sound of the handle unlocking and he almost doesn’t recognize the figure standing in front of him.

Marco stands in the doorway, pale and sickly and Mario gasps. “Marco what happened to you?” His eyes, which are covered in a faint blue – Mario notices-, widen for a brief moment and he looks almost shocked, but he quickly composes himself and takes a stony look on his face.

“What are you doing here?” He asks coldly staring at him, but there is something off in his eyes, Mario thinks.

“I came to see you. You haven’t been in school for a week and I got worried-” But Marco doesn’t let him go on.

“You shouldn’t have.” His voice is calm and cold and it hits Mario badly. He looks at Marco confused more than anything and asks; “What, Marco I-”

“Leave.” He says lowly, looking around as if someone is watching him. “Please leave.”

“Marco, what are you saying?”

“You should leave; I don’t want to see you again.” He closes his eyes saying this, as if it actually pains him to say so and Mario doesn’t understand a thing.

“But why?” He says desperate and Marco closes his eyes again.

“You just need to leave, isn’t that enough explanation for you?” He says frustrated and his right hand grabs the door handle in an attempt to close it, but Mario pushes it open again, angry. “No! And I’m not leaving until you give me a valid explanation.”

“Baby, who’s at the door?” Another voice is heard inside the apartment and Marco instantly pales and says hurriedly. “Mario, he’s here to get his things and leave.” 

“Do you two need any help?” He asks. “No, he was just leaving.”

“I’m not leaving!” He protests angrily.

“Yes you are!” He raises his voice and Mario for a moment is taken aback. Marco has never talked to him like this.

“Is it because of him?” He says, hurt. Marco stays silent.

“Tell me Marco, is it because of him that you want to throw away our friendship, every moment we spent together, every memory?” The words burn like acid on his tongue and Marco doesn’t respond.

“TELL ME!” He screams and Marco closes his eyes, a tear sliding silently down his cheek. But Mario has already turned his back on him, not fast enough to watch his tears fall or hear the faint ‘sorry’ that he whispers after. _I only tried to protect you…_

 

*

He trashes everything around the room, breaking things, screaming and sobbing at the same time, as his heart breaks in two. There’s so much pain he can’t bear and he just can’t understand. Thoughts fog his vision and his mind is so full, but still so empty at the same time. He’s afraid! Afraid of going on, afraid of things changing. He doesn’t want them to change. His hands play with the broken frame of a photo where’s the two of them smiling and the biggest fear that courses through his veins in that exact moment is not the one of loosing Marco, but the thought of Marco loosing himself.

 *

Days pass through a blur of faces molded together in a constant buzz in the back of his head. He doesn’t feel like talking to anyone, just continues walking in an endless rhythm, his head lowered to the ground and a hoodie hanging low just above his eyebrows. The only face he’s able to see is his, because somehow he often keeps forgetting that Marco goes to the same school as him… but he’s not Marco. He’s not his Marco anymore and the thought makes him suffocate and want to run for miles. And he does, he runs until every muscle on his body is sore and aching. He runs until his lungs are burning and he can’t catch his breath. Good, he thinks, let them burn.

But the nights are the hardest. He lies on his bed for hours, awake, with bloodshot eyes unable to sleep and his mind circles around a single question ‘what if’. His scent fills his senses and his memories haunt him even then. And he hates himself and his life and everything around him. His days have lost color and his nights have become darker and suffocating. He keeps searching for that one thing that he needs and can’t find, that one thing he’s unable to reach and his fragile heart breaks in two every time he sees him.

He doesn’t seem to find a solution.

And in the verge of tears and confusion, he feels like giving up.

 

 

_Marco has gotten into another fight, the type where he almost got his ass handed to him by two boys twice his size. Mario gets a call in the middle of the day and hurries to Marco, skipping school and everything else, because Marco is more important than all of it._

_When he finds him, (himself out of breath and about to pass out from worrying) somewhere in a dark alley, he’s sitting against a wall, eyes closed and head tilted upwards. And yes, by now it’s nothing out of ordinary, but when Mario really takes in his appearance, his heart sinks in his ribcage, the beating furiously echoing through his veins, and his eyes well up making his vision blurry and his lungs straining to get some air. Mario is broken down, knuckles bruised, face bleeding and Mario has never seen him like this._

_“Marco.” His voice is as loud as a breath.  Mario is not able to get out more than a whisper even though inside everything is screaming. Marco opens his glossy eyes to look at him with an emotion he can’t quite place as he tries to smile, the motion accompanied with the sounds of hissing and pure pain. It’s shocking beyond belief, as much as to make his skin shiver, so Mario does the only thing he can think of before he completely loses his mind, he takes Marco in his arms while there are only two words circling in his head: **home** and **safe**. He can’t help but notice how Marco is heavy on his arms, but he would take his weight a million times over if only Marco would be safe._

_He cleans his wounds and kisses them better, showing all the care and tenderness he can, but doesn’t say a word about the fight or Marco’s stupidy. Because he knows that this time things have been serious and it could have gone a million times worse, they could have-he can’t even think of it. Marco had been lucky._

_They lie on the bed after Marco’s pain has gone down a bit, Mario holding Marco’s head on his chest tenderly and a secure arm wrapped around his waist. There’s something beyond all the love and adoration he feels for Marco, something beyond the fuzzy warm feeling he gets every time Marco takes care of him. Beyond the urge to belong, and to have Marco hold him and claim him and keep him as his forever. Beyond breathing for his smile or being left breathless by his touch and devilish smirk. And that feeling is to protect him. Cause he feels like love isn’t all about what you can take, but also about what you can give. And Mario feels like he would give it all. To keep him warm and safe whenever he feels vulnerable. To carry him when he has no strength left and the world becomes too much. To smile for him whenever he feels down and to protect him at all costs even if that means protecting him from his own self. Because, Mario realizes, Marco deep down is fragile and needs more love and care than most people think he does. And Mario knows that else he’s gonna break himself. Cause he’s reckless and rushed and always in search of perfection, working himself up dangerously._

_His fingers find a strand of his hair and start playing with it. Marco hums contentedly and Mario does so too, because Marco is safe, because Marco is right beside him and he’s safe._

_“Mario?” Marco demands his attention suddenly and Mario lowers his eyes to look at him._

_“Yes?” Mario asks curiously._

_“Thank you.” He says shyly, not really looking at Mario, and Mario understands that it must be hard for Marco; he was never someone to depend on other people. Marco’s fingers continue mindlessly tracing invisible patterns against his ribs and Mario loves the way they are just now; intimate and quiet and perfect._

_And if he was brave, Mario suddenly thinks, he would tell him how he feels, how much he loves him and how he would follow him to the end of the world if needed. He would wash their worries away with a kiss and maybe then they would finally be happy…_

_It’s just unfortunate that Mario is a coward._

_He masks what hurts him and whispers to him; “Always.” Kissing his hair, his hand resting on his shoulder, and that calms down his inner turmoil for a while, because he knows that even if he can’t have it all, at least he has this and this can last forever._

_Marco is the strongest person that he has ever met, he thinks. Confident, courageous and brave, but still fragile and weak at times. Human, just like him. Just like the rest of them…_

 

 

He doesn’t love anyone after Marco just like he never loved anyone before him. Because without him he knows he isn’t capable of loving. So he studies instead. He reads every book in the library, takes every note and passes every exam and every subject with excellent grades. He has always been a smart guy and soon he becomes the main talk of teachers and students. When the school offers him the opportunity to skip a year and get a scholarship to one of the biggest collages in Germany, he gladly takes it.

So he decides to move to Munich. His mother sheds a few tears, sad that his baby is leaving home so soon, his father clasps his back proudly and says a word or two and Felix brags about finally taking his room. It’s all exiting and sad at the same time, but Mario feels up for it.

(He learns later from Marcel that Marco continued studying in Dortmund, he doesn’t ask if Robert goes there too.)

 Mario leaves home, the only place he has ever known, hoping that distance can take his mind away. But he is still there with him everywhere he goes, in every breath he takes. A shallow, weak ache at the back of his ribs, right near the place his heart is. And it haunts him, his voice echoing through his head, his heart feeling empty inside those four white walls. His mind wanders on all of the memories that are too much for the time to erase. His voice, his smile, his eyes. He haunts his dreams until he wakes up screaming and in a daze of sleepiness where everything is blurred, his tired mind allows him to believe that maybe it was just a dream. That Marco never really left him, that he is right there resting beside him. So he turns to his side, cuddling to the cold sheets and pillow in a bed that isn’t his, wanting to find him or at least his smell… but it’s all gone. Just like everything else.

The skies are bruised, like a constant reminder of his mood. The gray clouds look heavy and menacing in their silence but he doesn’t mind. It’s been a long time since he last cared. Soon time passes and he finds himself a day before winter break. Snow has already covered the ground and that empty feeling is replaced by torturing memories of them. And he lets them take him away, because after all, there is no real reason to accept the way things have changed.

After some time of debating it with himself he decides on not going home for Christmas, he doesn’t think he can take it. He debates it with his mom on the phone for over an hour, saying that he has exams he has to study for, until she gives up and with a sigh tells him to do as he pleases. He knows that she has already noticed that something is up with him even if she doesn’t comment on it.

 

It’s two days before Christmas when he decides ‘fuck it’. He’s tired of waiting, tired of feeling down and depressed, tired of not having to see his family because of missing him. He’s old enough to deal with his problems and he’s old enough to move on and maybe forget, so he takes the bus and at 9 pm finds himself in front of his own house and when he sees his mother’s smile he knows that he has made the right choice.

He meets them, happy that he’s finally seeing his family. He does brief conversations and then excuses himself to go up and rest.

Everything is exactly the same in a scary way. Fabian hasn’t taken his room and Mario now wishes that he had, because in here time hasn’t passed at all. The sheets still faintly smell of him (even thought he is sure his mother has changed them), old musky and simply Marco, everything he has been craving for so long. It surprises him how he hasn’t been able to forget all these little things despite himself. There are pictures of them on the walls and old sweaters of him in the closet (that he refused to take with him when he was leaving) and now he regrets having said that he was tired. He is sure he won’t be getting any sleep tonight.

Morning finds him awake, his face tear stained and his eyes bloodshot. His mother points his tiredness out during breakfast and says that he shouldn’t strain himself studying so much. He doesn’t respond. She asks him if he feels ok and he says that he’s ‘tired because he hasn’t got a good sleep, that’s all’. She does that mysterious motherly smile as she continues doing whatever it is that mothers do. He doesn’t bother starting another conversation. It’s happening a lot lately. He losing will, the world becoming plain and boring.

When he decides that he has eaten enough, (which is just half a toast really) he gets up from the table and heads towards the hall.

“Are you going to meet Marco today?” His mother asks just as he’s leaving, but his mind only registers the word _Marco_ and he turns towards his mother’s voice as if asleep and asks; “What?”

“I asked if you were going to meet Marco today, you know it’s been a long time since you two last hung up-” She hasn’t finished, but Mario doesn’t wait for her to, only leaves the house without saying a word.

 

At least that afternoon he makes it home on time for the Christmas dinner. He expects to be interrogated by his mother, wanting to know the reason for his earlier outburst, but she says nothing, looking happy that the whole family is together.

“Marcel, for the last time. I’m having dinner with my family, I can’t talk now. Yeah, yeah you too. Bye. Yes, I will see you tomorrow. Now bye.” He hangs up the phone and leaves it on the table.

“Sorry, you know how he is.” Mario apologies and continues eating, digging his attention at the plate in front of him. His mom and dad continue with their conversation while Fabian and Felix are busy discussing about the transfer window and Dortmund’s season so far, until his phone rings again. Mario sighs, excusing himself from the table and heads out of the dining room. “Sorry, gotta take this.”

“Hello?” For a moment there’s silence on the other line and Mario frowns checking the number again. “Hello?... Look, if it’s you again Marcel, let me tell you this game isn’t even funny anymo-”

“Mario!” A voice sobs on the other line. It’s the voice he’d know even in death.

“Marco? ... Oh my God, Marco, you ok? Is everything alright?” Mario holds the phone tight in his grip as he hears Marco crying violently. “H-Help me, please.” _Robert_. The taste of panic rises in his throat and he looks around frantically.

“Marco, Marco listen to me. Try to calm yourself down. Tell me, where are you?”

“T-T-Thomas’.” He sobs again and Mario grabs his coat in a hurry sending down a vase in the process. He curses under his breath; his hands are shaking violently as he tries to put on his shoes. He can hear his mom calling from the other room, but he doesn’t have time. He doesn’t have time.

“Hang in there Marco I’m coming. I’m coming.”

 

 

He finds him on the floor unconscious, naked and bleeding and he screams. (It’s been such a long time of missing and craving him and Mario never thought that they would meet like this.) Marco lies on the ground, curled upon his own self, weak and bloodied and bruised and Mario is on verge of losing his mind. He chokes back a sob as he tries to get him to respond, but Marco doesn’t give any signs of life. Mario panics, his breathing gets hard and his vision blurry. He has to think. FAST! With shaky hands he reaches for his phone, vaguely remembering the emergency number. They tell him to calm down and reassure him that they have already sent an ambulance on their way, but it’s not enough.

He cradles his face, which is almost unrecognizable with all that blood on it, on his lap and stares over the mess that his love’s body has become. “I’m sorry.” He says as the first tears start to fall. His fingers bloodied, find his hair and clutch on them. “Hold on, please hold on.”

He lifts his whole body on his arms putting it on his lap, shivering at how light and small he has become, taking of his coat and wrapping it against his naked body in attempt to keep him warm. And it sickens him! The person he has known his entire life beaten to a sick, bony figure that he can no longer recognize. His fingers trace his ribs and he keeps rubbing his arms, praying frantically to every God he knows to save them.

“Stay with me, please stay with me.” He cries kissing his hair lightly. “I can’t bear to lose you again.” He whispers in his ear and somewhere in the dark he can faintly make out the sound of sirens getting closer.

 

 

He stands there waiting for God knows how long, thinking the worst, restless and sick of his mind. He keeps thinking ‘what if’ over and over again as if his mind wants no other than to torture him mercilessly. He has no strength left; he’s tired and wants to stop thinking.

His vision burns black holes on the white wall in front of him, until something vibrating against his thigh brings him back to senses. It startles him for a second, until he recognizes the object as his phone. He picks it up to be welcomed by his mother’s angry and worried voice.

“Mario Götze! Where the hell are you? How can you disappear without saying anything, and on Christmas’ night? Really? I hope you have a good explanation for this because I swear to God when you get ho-”

“Mom, Marco’s dying!” His voice is filled with pain, the type that burns your lungs and sets your throat on fire. And he knows that he shouldn’t say that, that he can’t say that. That Marco is gonna be ok and- he has to be ok. He has to be ok! But they’ve been in there for too long and his mind is racing and he isn’t in his right state of mind to see things clear.

The line is silent for a while and he can hear faint ruffling on the background and the sound of his mother’s voice saying something, sounding like she’s about to cry.

“Hold on sweetie, we’re coming right away.” She says and the call ends. That feeling comes bursting again. Tightening his chest until he can’ breathe, setting his throat on fire and blurring his vision with fuzzy black spots. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm down, but his pain only increases, bursting through his veins like acid and he wraps his arms around his ribs, lowering his head in pain. His vision gets blurrier and his ears buzz, making him lose contact with the world around him. He tries getting up, but his legs won’t function and he tries breathing again and again until that pain fades just the tiniest bit.

_Marco_ , he thinks, _his Marco._

His mother comes later, along with Fabian and he lets go of himself in their arms, maybe for the first time in his whole life like that… And he’s afraid, he’s afraid that Marco won’t wake up… that he will have to lose him again, and that for him is a bigger fear than not existing.

 His mother understands him well; he can tell by the way she looks at him.

It’s only half an hour later that the doctor comes to meet them.

“I’m sorry.” He says, looking down at his papers. “He has been raped and beaten up badly, and the situation is worse than we previously thought.” _Raped_!  His mother gasps covering her mouth with her right hand and he closes his eyes and silently prays.

“He has a fractured wrist, a dislodged shoulder and two of his ribs on the left side are cracked. We have to keep him on watch for internal bleeding tonight and we cleaned and bandaged his superficial wounds. I’m afraid that’s all we could do. However we found traces of earlier traumas on his body, such as his left ankle, which is damaged and it’s gonna need special treatment.” The doctor finishes his sentence and his mother asks:

“How long do you think it will take for him to get out of hospital, doctor?”

“Well, that depends on how well he reacts to the treatment, which I think that it cannot take less than a week seeing that the boy is also underweight, and even after getting out of the hospital he’s going to need somebody to take care of him.”

“I will.” Mario says slowly, looking at his feet. “I will take care of him, don’t worry.” Mario’s heart clenches in his chest and his brother puts an arm around his shoulders keeping him close to himself, while the doctor still discusses something with his mother. He isn’t able to listen to what they are saying, the words coming out as voiceless nothingness. Marco has been raped by the person he had loved the most and tortured for a long time and Mario’s cruel mind spirals again down a mess of ‘if only’. He is angry! Angry and miserable at the same time, and in that moment he wordlessly curses his human ability to feel and have emotions. His brother directs him towards the chairs and helps him sit down while his mom sits beside him and grabs his hand. He feels pain and his head is a mess. He really needs to rest.

 

When they finally allow Mario to see him, it’s morning and he hasn’t got a minute of sleep all night. Fabian has stayed with him after taking their mom home and he is grateful for that, cause else he doesn’t know what he would have been able to do. He enters the room quietly; his knees shaking and his lower lip quivering, and sits on the chair near the bed. Marco is still asleep, looking tired and hurt, hooked up on machines and tubes, barely breathing under the constant sounds of beeping.

Mario takes a deep breath and stares; he’s bandaged and bruised and thin, looking so small and out of place on those white sheets. His skin is sickly pale, almost deadly under the dim morning light, covered in blue and green and purple, some of them new and some of them fading. His chest is hooked on wires, breathing life into him and it makes Mario’s skin prickle and his whole body ache all over. The tears find their way again and he grabs Marco’s hand in his timidly as is afraid of breaking it. His thumb caresses the skin there and Mario has missed him for so long.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, the quiet sobs muffling his voice, showing sincerity even though he has nothing to be sorry about.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hoped you guys have liked this. But even if you didn't like it, please, please, please take a moment to write down what you think of it and let me know, because it's always pleasant to know what people think of your work even if the feedback isn't always positive. :)
> 
> I don't know when the next chapter is coming out , but I swear that I won't give up on this story. I've already started working and I hope that it won't take as much time as this chapter took to update.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you have a wonderful day! :D


	3. Yours again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello again. I'm so glad I'm posting this chapter and sorry for taking so long, but you know how school is. Let's get emotional now, shall we? :D  
> I first started writing "I come to you in pieces" in my notebook in tech class March 13th of this year out of boredom and I never though I'd be able to publish this story, but I did and then and I started writing "Hold me now" June 14th and I'm happy to have it finished December 12. Well that took a while didn't it?  
> Anyway. I hope you enjoy this chapter. This is not beta-ed so sorry for any possible mistake.  
> Enjoy! :)

 

 

“But god, I look at you and know.  
Hell is just another place I guess I’ll go  
to keep you warm.  
And with bloody knuckles, you’d follow me anywhere.”

 

A whimper pulls him out of his thoughts and his eyes search for the owner of that whimper. Marco is awake, staring around the room probably scared, lost and confused and Mario calls his name. It’s a whisper, a whim of air barely heard around the almost agoraphobic room, but Marco turns to look at him. His eyes are bloodshot and tired and confused and the light in them is almost lost, but Mario is happy for watching them open one more time.

“Mario?” He whispers confused, his throat dry and his voice scratchy, and then he remembers everything. His face turns grim and his eyes turn dark with sorrow, something so apocalyptic and silent like an ocean before the storm. His breathing quickens until he starts gasping for air and crying out hoarsely. His hands grip the sheets pulling and tearing, torturing and hurting the timid veins that are pinched by needles, shocking and sending constant pain to the damaged wrist, his knuckles turning white and his muscles contracting painfully.

Mario sits up from his chair instantly, sending it flying behind in the process. Marco continues gasping and screaming incoherent words and ‘no’s over and over again as the machines go crazy around him. Mario quickly leaves the room running and shouting for a nurse, feeling light headed and sick to his stomach.

They come in quickly, grabbing and twisting him as another nurse puts something in his serum. His breathing is still rapid for another few more moments and his cast is painfully straining his lungs at his now shallow and weak mewls to break free and Mario desperately wants to shout at them ‘Stop, you’re gonna hurt him!’ but he’s sure that they won’t hear him. After all they can’t break him more than he already is.

 

After a few hours he wakes up again, hurting and aching all over, but he seems to be stable enough to not have another breakdown. Mario is grateful for that. If anyone asked him how he managed to keep himself sane during these days he’d say that he has no bloody clue.

Marco looks tired and desperate, like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Mario can’t blame him; he wouldn’t want to be here either. Suddenly Marco turns to look at him and Mario feels alerted all over again, but Marco simply stares at him, his eyes looking longing and sad all of sudden, like has aged 10 years in a week.

“You’re here.” He croaks out with his tired and spent out voice that probably hurts his abused throat while he speaks. Mario winces internally, visibly shivering. His words sink in slowly and painfully, turning his wincing into physical chest pain while making his eyes burn with tears that he franticly refuses to let go. Did Marco really think that he would let him go? That he would abandon him and move on like he never really existed? That he would turn out to be just like everyone else? His chest clenches at the thought that maybe Marco has forgotten how much he cares about him. And then out of impulse he shoots:

“I’d never leave you Marco; you were the one that sent me away.” His words cut deep in both of their souls, the pain burning bright, and even though Mario has regretted this a thousand times already, he’s grateful that he can at least feel this.

To his surprise Marco smiles a heartbreaking smile as his eyes water. “I’m sorry.” He says. His lungs, restrained in a cast, heave in a big painful breath like they always do after crying and Mario feels ten times worse already.

“No,” he says grabbing his hand (Marco doesn’t flinch or make any attempt to move it away) “I am the one that should be sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Marco smiles again and says nothing, closing his eyes and slowly falling into a deep slumber as Mario holds his hand.

 

His parents turn up two hours later, coming in a rush and showing their worry and concern and suddenly Mario hates them. They are his parents and Mario knows that they have more rights on Marco than he himself does, but he can’t help it. He feels sick of this stupid show.

He hates them for not being by their son’s side when he needs them the most. He hates them for never being real parents. He hates them for taking their son for granted and never seeing to his needs. He hates them for the fact that Marco has more memories with family than his own parents. He hates them for never being there for him through sickness or success. And he hates them even more when they say that they have work to do and that they can’t stay too long.

Marco stays silent the whole time as well. He doesn’t even look at them, his eyes glued to the wall in front of him, deeply lost in his sea of thoughts. Mrs. Reus tries to make her son talk to them, but he doesn’t even notice their presence. Then she tries to touch him and he flinches away as if burnt. She takes her hand away slowly and after some time of unproductive talk they abandon him again, so eager and thirsty to get back and shut themselves in their work all day.

When they finally leave, Marco turns to look at him. His eyes are watered and sad and Mario understands him well enough. There are no words needed.

 

*

 

Marcel comes to see Marco the day after.

Mario swears he has never seen Marcel cry until that day.

He sits by him silently, staring at him with so much hurt in his eyes as he silently starts to cry, his tears hitting the mattress rather heavily. He keeps whispering things like ‘why?’ and ‘I knew it’ over and over again, his eyes fixed in Marco’s almost lifeless, pale face, breathing in his memory all the scratches and bruises, making a list of them so he never forgets as his pain slowly turns into rage. His hands ball into fists and he curses himself to the hell and back for not having done anything before, and only then Marco tries to take his mind away, saying that he wouldn’t have listened either way.

It’s the first time he talks to someone other than Mario and Mario sees that as a tremendous improvement.

But Marcel goes on, blinded by rage, naming all the things he’ll do to Robert to make him pay in a slow and heartless way, merciless enough to make him wish death upon himself. Mario can’t help but think the same. And that’s where the problem starts, Mario muses to himself. Marco closes back up on himself, becoming unresponsive, his eyes fixed at that same spot on the wall and watering just slightly. He still loves Robert despite everything.

His own hands fit into balls, knuckles turning white, and he suddenly feels underrated and hurt, because after all he did he isn’t even considered as an option to Marco? Furthermore can’t Marco see how Robert destroyed him? How he has broken him and damaged him in way that he can never be fully repaired! He lets jealousy and hatred blind him and for a moment he forgets what’s going on, he forgets Marco’s needs and the sudden want to find Robert mutes all of his senses. He turns around to leave. He can’t stay here and see Marco like this, not anymore, at least not for a while. Because he’s hurt, he’s heartbroken and hurt while the only person he has ever loved in his entire life is broken and almost dying and still loving the one who made him like this… and if he would have to be entirely honest, the last one rips his soul more than everything else does.

But just as if Marcel could see right through his turmoil, he gets up and moves closer to him, grabbing his arm and dragging to sit at the chair beside Marco’s bed, and right when he does Marco turns to look at him with those lost and hopeless eyes, silently begging him to stay.

It hits him like a train. Because Marco needs him and not his jealousy right now. He needs someone who can help him and love him and make him better without asking for anything in return. He needs time and lots of patience and care. He needs a friend, someone he can count on and not someone who’ll take his fragile state of mind to their advantage. And in those moments he isn’t sure whether he’s that person anymore.

He feels sick and disgusted with himself.

 

*

 

It’s the third day and Mario hasn’t left the hospital since that night. Fabian comes along with Marcel to convince him to go home and get some rest at least as long as Marco’s sleeping, but Mario strongly decides against it, saying that Marco can wake up at any time and have a panic attack while he’s not here. Eventually his stubbornness makes them give up and they tell him to do as he pleases, claiming that they’ll be staying outside if he changes his mind.

Some time passes like that and Mario drifts into a light slumber, until a sudden loud crash wakes both of them up. Mario is disorientated for a few moments, and then the shouting becomes understandable for him. Sentences like ‘no, you can’t enter’ and ‘get lost, he’s mine’ mingle themselves with curses and noise and Mario’s mind gets alerted. Robert’s here! He turns his head to look at Marco and his face is torn between pain and horror, a reflection that’s similar to his. His eyes are open so wide, glued to the door while his chest heaves frantically up and down. He looks in the verge of a breakdown or worse and Mario’s panic worsens. He contemplates leaving and dealing with Robert himself, but he can’t leave Marco alone in here. He’s sure that Marcel and Fabian are strong enough to take care of Robert without him, but he fears that their rage will not be enough to hold him back. He has seen him fight; he knows what he’s capable of.

The sounds of shouting continue, becoming louder and angrier and Mario briefly wonders how the security hasn’t intervened yet, when suddenly the door flies open and Robert blasts in, pushing both of the boys out of his way. Mario jumps at his feet, breathing hard, eyes open wide questioning the reality of the scene together with his sanity as he tightens his grips on Marco’s hand. Robert seems to have noticed that little movement and he snarls at them, his nostrils flaring up in anger and Marco shrinks in his bed. He takes a long look at their entwined hands.

“You little slut!” He growls stomping towards them and grabbing Marco by the jaw harshly. Marco whimpers and lets out noises of pain while trying to get away of his grip. Mario grabs his hand, (it’s all happening in a matter of seconds even though it feels like an eternity) pushing it away with force and as far from Marco as possible. Robert pushes him back, punching him hard in the nose and Mario hits the ground. Marco shrieks his name in a blood freezing tone and it’s the same scene like two years ago all over again. Robert kicks his ribs repeatedly and when he makes sure he can’t move again he turns at Marco walking to him in a slow and menacing rhythm, grabbing him harshly by the arm and dragging him from the bed. The machines go crazy around them and Marco screams bloody murder while Robert pulls him by his damaged wrist.

“I’ll show you how to behave again you little piece of shit. I’ll make sure you’ll never see the sunlight again.” He laughs like a madman and pulls harder, causing Marco’s feet to fail him and let him fall to the ground.

“You think what they did to you was bad?” He lowers body to whisper at his ear. “Oh baby, you haven’t seen anything yet. I’ll tear you down!” He spits out disgustingly and Marco sobs. He pulls at his wrist again, this time dragging his whole body weight (which is close to nothing) on the tiles towards the exit.

It’s that the exact time the door blasts open and the hospital security runs in with their guns in the air (Marcel and Fabian standing right behind them), ordering Robert to let go of Marco and put his hands in the air. Robert lets go of him, kicking him away violently with his foot while he does as he’s told. They grab him, handcuffing him and brutally escorting him away and just as they’re getting him out of the room he laughs hysterically and looks at Marco. “I’ll come back for you my little slut and I’ll make sure you’ll pay for this. You’ll never see the sun again; I’ll make sure of that. You can’t run away from me!” They take him away as he keeps shouting and screaming the things he’s gonna do to Marco and Marco has frozen to the ground.

Marcel helps him up slowly, directing him to the bed and letting him sit while he runs to get a nurse. Fabian on the other side does the same thing with Mario. He takes him by the arm and sits him on the chair. His face is bloodied, his shirt as well because his nose is bleeding furiously and making a big mess, it is probably broken and he throws his head back and stays like that for a while. Marco glues his eyes at him, terrified and unable to say a word. His face shows a million of different feelings and just as if Mario senses his stare he lowers his head to look at him.

He smiles even though he’s far from feeling in the mood to smile, hurting an aching all over. But Marco seems to relax at that and by the look he feels the need to say something. Mario grabs his hand instead, wordlessly promising him that it will be ok.

 

*

 

Marco doesn’t talk to anyone except Mario. He flinches at every little noise and at every touch that isn’t Mario’s and even after three hours of attempts, the psychologist couldn’t make him talk.

(Mario has to restrain himself from burning the whole place down. He thinks about finding Robert. Thinks about making him pay, slowly and painfully in ways he knows that hurt the most. He can! He knows he can. But it isn’t worth it. It would only make Marco hurt more and he can’t do that to him. He can’t bring him more pain.)

The doctor says that they could try therapy, but he’s not sure if that would make any difference, because Marco won’t open up to anyone except him. He is Marco’s only hope, the only one who can get him better, make him whole again… but he fears that this burden is way too heavy for his weak and trembling shoulders.

His marks are slowly fading and his bones are healing and Marco is regaining his strength, but Mario deep down fears that some things will never fully heal and that fills his heart with sorrow.

He stays with him day and night, because Marco doesn’t want him to go. He holds his hand until he falls asleep, kissing his forehead and praying to God that he’s here and he’s alive, unable to close his eyes and sleep from the fear of not finding him when he wakes up.

That’s how a week passes and they decide to let Marco go, in condition that he will have to come every week for checkups.

Mario transfers his documents on Marco’s university, letting go of his great dreams of a successful career, not thinking even once of turning back. He rents an apartment near the building (something simple, two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, a bathroom) so it would be near for both of them, taking care of things like; fixing it and making it comfortable and cozy enough for both of them and sending someone to get Marco’s clothes from the house.

Mario’s mom offers them to stay home with the rest of the family, claiming that Marco is already part of the family and some company would do them good. But Mario politely declines, saying that for now it is good this way. His mother then decides to pay his rent and send him money as if he still was in Munich despite his protests though, saying that he can’t take care of Marco, work and study at the same time. And even thought Mario feels bad and in debt with his mother, he’s deeply grateful for it, knowing fairly well that he wouldn’t be able to make it otherwise.

 

*

 

It’s the next morning after Marco got out of the hospital and they have moved in the apartment Mario rented. It’s early, around 7 am, but Mario is awake preparing some breakfast in the kitchen while he hears a loud crash coming from the bathroom. He drops whatever he’s holding, smashing it away, not caring for the damage as he runs to see what has happened.

The door is locked and he knocks calling his name, but Marco doesn’t respond and he can faintly hear him sobbing.

“Marco, open the door” But he doesn’t answer and Mario starts panicking. “Marco.” He bangs on the door frantically, thinking of the million possibilities of what’s going on in there. “Marco, open the door or I’m going to break it!” Nothing. Mario hits the door with all of his strength, once, twice and the third time he breaks it.

Everything else moves in slow motion. He enters the bathroom, his steps heavy and painful and Marco is standing in front of a broken wall mirror, his hands bloody and holding a thick piece of glass to his throat as he watches his numerous reflections on the broken mirror. Mario screams his name, his hand reaching his to tenderly remove the glass from his hands while looking at the tiny little cut on his neck, right above the thinnest string of life.

Marco refuses letting go, crying and screaming that he wants to die and that he can’t live like this anymore. He hits his chest with bloody hands, paining his wrist and his shoulder at the violent motions, refusing against his tight grip, sobbing violently and when Mario refuses to let him go until he calms down he begs him to do it. He begs Mario to end it all.

Mario gathers his tiny frame in his arms, carrying him away to his own room and laying Marco in his own bed. He is shivering as he starts cleaning his cuts, still shocked and scared at the fact that his Marco tried to take his own life. He flinches internally at every silent tear that falls down painfully and heavy on his lap or at the occasional whimpers and cries of pain. When he’s done with his hands he turns his attention at Marco’s neck, his fingers working lightly and tenderly, trying to cause as less pain as possible.

“Why?” Marco whispers just as he’s tying the last bandage and Mario’s hands tense against him. His voice is hoarse and so full of pain and despair as if Marco doesn’t want to live anymore and Mario is the one holding him back. It makes him feel selfish all of sudden and even though he wants Marco to live and get better he wants him to be the same again. To be the Marco he has loved all of this time and maybe even make him fall in love with him… while forgetting that maybe Marco will never be able to love again.

 

*

 

Marco’s wounds are slowly healing; his cuts are fading and his broken bones and getting better. Marco’s mood is not.

 

*

 

“Marco come down, lunch is ready.” Mario shouts from the kitchen, but gets no response. “Marco?” He asks again, but there’s still silence. Weird, he thinks. He leaves the kitchen and walks silently down the hall and enters Marco’s room. The door is open. Marco is lying on the bed facing the wall, probably sleeping, and Mario for a moment contemplates leaving.

“Marco?” He asks softly one last time not wanting to disturb those little moments when Marco can peacefully sleep. But Marco shifts, humming lowly from under the covers, showing that he’s awake. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He says griping the door handle, ready to close it and leave if Marco asks. But he never does.

Instead he uncovers his face, looking at the ceiling. “I wasn’t sleeping” He says, now switching his stare to Mario who’s awkwardly standing at the doorway. He looks indeed tired, Mario thinks, like he hasn’t slept in days. The bags under his eyes show that clearly.

“Come on then,” Mario says smiling softly. “I’ve prepared lunch.” But that doesn’t seem to spark any interest in him.

“I’m not hungry.” He says closing his eyes for a few moments.

“But you have to eat something! You need to heal you need to-”

“I’m not hungry. I’m not going to eat! Now can you let me rest please?” He cuts him off wearily.

“But Marco,” Mario continues again, his voice as light as it can be. “You need to heal; you need to get strong again to-”

“To do what?” He cuts him off harshly. “Tell me Mario, to do exactly what? To get better so I can run again? To get better so I can play football again? Look at me! LOOK AT ME!!” He screams crying out loudly. “I am never going to be the same again despite someone’s efforts. Despite everything they are able to do. I’ll never get to play football again. I’ll never make it to the team. I’m good for nothing... And if it is gonna be like this for the rest of my life, maybe I don’t want to get better at all.” He whispers the last part almost inaudibly and Mario’s heart clenches at his chest so hard he finds it hard to breathe. Marco starts crying, his sobs shaking his shoulders and Mario crosses the room slowly and sits on the bed beside him, contemplating whether to touch him or not.

Marco holds his face in his hands as his shoulders shake even harder. He would never let someone see him broken like this, Mario knows. He lifts his arm that feels heavy and useless by his side to rest it at his bony shoulders and Marco turns to him wrapping his arms weakly as he cries, hiding his face in Mario’s neck.

“I don’t wanna do this anymore.” He whispers faintly. “I can’t!” Mario kisses his hair lightly, holding him tight in his arms as if he’s afraid that Marco will vanish into thin air if he doesn’t. His arms rub his back soothingly, rocking them both softly.

“You don’t have to.” He whispers back as if he’s afraid of the world knowing. “I’m here for you. We’ll get through this together, I promise.”

It is hard and he knows it, but he’s ready to give it a try, he’s ready to give it all for him to be ok and whole again. He’s ready to face and accept everything even though he knows that they have a long road ahead of them and it’s not gonna be easy. But that doesn’t matter, at least not yet. They are going to do everything slowly and Mario’s sure that they’re gonna be ok.

 

_He wakes up to find everything dark around him. He can hear the sound of rain drumming violently against the window and then a light strikes across the sky whitening the room. The sound that follows is loud, apocalyptic to his ears and he flinches. Fear fills his veins and he feels paralyzed. He thinks of waking Marco who’s sleeping soundly only centimeters from him, snoring softly, his back facing him. Another lighting strikes and he whimpers, closing his eyes and counting silently to ten. He’s far too caught up in the moment to feel the sheets shift until he feels an arm around his waist. He opens his eyes ever so slowly, turning his head slightly to the side to find a pair of green eyes staring down at him. He fees utterly stupid._

_“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to wake you up.” But Marco smiles down at him, a bright smile he can notice even in the dark._

_“Hey, it’s ok.” He says in a deep sleepy voice that sounds so sweet and warm to him it makes him subconsciously smile. But lighting strikes again, the thunder louder and even more menacing and Mario squeals and hides his face on his pillow, shivering visibly and Marco strokes his hair._

_“Hey. Hey, look at me.” He says demanding his attention and Mario does as he’s told. He shifts his weight to rest beside Mario and whispers. “It’s ok to be afraid… But it can’t hurt us. The thunder is just noise. It cannot hurt us.” His hand continues stroking his hair while his other arm holds him tightly shifting his posture little by little until he’s got Mario lying on his chest, his face at the crock of his neck._

_Another one booms loudly, but this time Mario doesn’t even notice it, content and sleepy in the arms of the one he loves so dearly. Marco’s smell lulls him to sleep slowly and sweetly and Mario falls asleep knowing that he’s loved and safe._

 

Nights are the worst. Horror chases him even in his sleep, in the form of memories mingled together with pieces from that night, tying him, twisting him, breaking him a thousand times over and he screams. He screams as if his soul is getting ripped out of his chest and his heart is set on fire. Mario hears from the other room, his fists griping the sheets at the tremendous screams.

He cries and screams in his sleep, mumbling incoherent words and ‘no’s over and over again. Marco sits on his bed in the other room gripping the sheets with bloodshot eyes until he decides that he can’t do this anymore. And he can’t!

He gets up from his bed, bare feet padding softly the cold hard ground as he makes his way to Marco’s room. He opens the door slowly making his way to the bed.

“Marco.” He says quietly at first, shaking his arm lightly. Nothing. Marco keeps writhing and mumbling incoherent words. “Marco.” He says again. “Marco, wake up.” He shakes his arm again, this time harder, and Marco opens his eyes, gasping for air and Mario does the only thing he can think of. He hugs him tightly. Slowly black bleeds into colors and Marco sobs in his neck as Mario holds him tightly.

“It’s ok.” He whispers. “It’s over now. It’s already over.” His hands pat gently his back, in an attempt to calm him down.

“It was them.” He breathes hard, his hands clenching into fists in Mario’s shirt.

“Them who?” Mario asks confused. Because Robert is the only one he knows that interacted with Marco these past few years. Marco shivers again, starting to shake scarily, rocking back and forth with hard movements because of Mario’s grip on him.

“It was them, it was them again.” He starts hyperventilating. “Marco, I don’t understand.” Mario says desperately. Who are they? What is Marco talking about?

“It was them w-ho ra-” His voice breaks helplessly and he sobs harder in Mario’s shirt. Mario’s blood runs cold. But just as he prepares himself to ask Marco, he tells it all.

“That night,” He starts. “w-when I called you… we were at Thomas’ party with some of Lewy’s friends.” His voice breaks at his name, Mario closes his eyes. “We were staying and h-he had had a lot to drink and… they asked him if they could have a taste…” He drifts off, sobbing harder and Mario’s grip tightens painfully on him. “It was two of them.”

It crashes Mario like he’s standing under a falling sky.

“Oh Marco. Marco, Marco, Marco.” He says. Marco continues crying, clutching his shirt with trembling fingers and Mario rocks them back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until the sun comes out and neither of them can fall asleep again.

 

The night after Marco asks him to stay with him. Mario does so without asking why. Marco sleeps better than he has in a long time.

 

*

 

Mario cares for Marco like he has never cared for anyone in his life. He falls asleep buried in his scent and wakes up with him securely tangled in his arms and maybe for now things are going alright. Mario was never one for irony, but he finds it ironical how the tables have turned.

Marco is getting better and that seems to be Mario’s reason to be always smiling these days. His interaction with other people is slowly but securely returning to normality. His wrist and shoulder are fully healed and they’re going to remove his rib cast this weekend. His ankle will get better with therapy and even though it will need its time the doctors are positive they can make it better than a new one. He has started eating again and he’s gaining weight, his cheeks becoming less hollow and his eyes sparkling again. He seems to be happier too these days, with a positive aura all around him and smiling shyly every now and then (it’s nothing near the Marco Mario remembers, playful and happy and carefree, but after weeks of being depressed and emotionally drained Mario couldn’t be any happier for this).

 

There, however, are other days as well, dark days. Days where Marco won’t want to smile, or eat, or do anything at all. Days where he will let himself fall into that bottomless pit of sadness and not say a word for days on a row. It’s in days like those that Mario loses his smile too, alerted and worried for his friend, that he’ll have to lose him all over again.

 

They didn’t lose their year. They studied home and they both passed all of their exams. Mario helped Marco with some of them and they are now back to normality… at least as normal as the situation they’re living in can be.

Robert has left the state.

 

*

 

It’s a few months later when it happens. It’s a warm and sunny Sunday morning. The sun rays stubbornly make their way through the dark curtains, annoyingly disturbing their sleep. Marco doesn’t have nightmares very often now, but they didn’t stop sleeping together despite that, slowly falling back into their old routine of sleeping and cuddling together. It’s all platonic, but it’s still all Mario has missed for so long. Marco is tightly wrapped around him, his limbs spread all around him like an octopus as he lazily buries his face deeper in the crook of Mario’s neck, searching for comfort, not wanting to wake up yet. He had always been a cuddler.

Mario stirs in his sleep, slowly waking up to the obnoxious sun beams which definitely won’t let him get any sleep today. He opens his eyes to a mop of blonde hair and a constant light breathing at the base of his neck. He shivers. Marco seems to be asleep. He cranes his neck to take a better look at the boy who’s sleeping soundly with his head on his chest. He looks beautiful in the early morning light, peaceful and young and content. His skin is creamy and soft where it’s draped around his waist, making contact with his own slightly tanned skin, and where it meets the sheets. His fingers are just a tad too cold, thrown over his biceps and his faint breath is tickling his neck just slightly. His heart clenches at the beautiful sight in front of him.

Marco seems to slowly wake up.

He lifts his head from Mario’s chest and smiles shyly at Mario who’s watching him. His face is sleepy and some of his hair falls to his forehead, he shows his dimples when he smiles and Mario feels the sudden need to kiss him. “Morning.” He mumbles as he yawns sleepily.

“Morning.” Mario says smiling at him, turning to his side to watch him. Marco does the same. Moments seem to pass like that and they lose themselves in each other’s eyes. The atmosphere seems weightless, like the air around them doesn’t exist and they draw closer to each other, so close they’re barely a breath away. Neither of them knows who kisses who first, but their lips meet in a slow languid kiss and suddenly nothing matters to them.

Mario feels something melt deep inside of him, something intense, light, finely beautiful. All his yearnings, his dreams, his memories, every secret he has slept and lived with all this time, everything he has loved and craved for so long culminate together in a dangerous form of a feeling that comes crashing at him like a tidal wave, lifting his soul and almost making it break free out of his mortal frame. And it hurts! It hurts like nothing has hurt before.

Mario breaks the kiss, opening his eyes and looking at Marco who stares confusedly back at him with big eyes and slightly reddened lips and Mario can’t do this. He can’t do this.

“I can’t… I can’t be someone else’s figure. You need someone to replace him and right now I seem to be someone you think you can love but you actually don’t, and I… I love you way too much for that. I’m sorry.” He says bitterly as he gets up and turns to leave.

“Please don’t leave.” Marco calls after him, grabbing his arm. “I’m sorry, just please listen to me.” Mario turns to look at him and sits down as if enchanted while Marco starts speaking again.

“I’m sorry.” He starts. “I know you’re not him and I’m not asking you to be… It’s just that you had a place before him in my heart and you still do.” Mario looks at him with eyes wide open, unable to believe his ears, or his mind or this. He’s thinking about pinching himself, he must be sleeping. Yep, he must be definitely sleeping; because there’s no way what Marco is saying can be entirely platonic.

“What?” He says slowly. His hands are starting to shake and right now he’s grateful for the bed he’s sitting in.

“That afternoon on freshmen year.” He starts. “When I asked you what you thought about people loving people of the same gender. When you said you didn’t hate them I felt happy for a moment and I was ready to confess to you about how I felt… because I had been liking you for a while back then and I almost thought I could do it… but when you said ‘she’ must be pretty, it all came crashing down on me. I tried to understand whether you liked me back or not. And you didn’t liked me, you loved me, I know you did… just not in the way that counted. I tried to stop thinking about you in that way, but I just couldn’t and I felt so disgusting. And then I met Robert.” The last sentence is barely a whisper, but Mario hears it nonetheless. Marco hangs his head to the side, probably ashamed and feeling stupid and Mario stares at him for a long while. Marco loves him. MARCO loves him. MARCO LOVES HIM!

“I’m sorry.” Marco says again. “I understand you don’t like me that way. I just wanted you to know how I fee-” But that sentence is never finished, because Mario runs towards him, crushing him under his weight as he kisses him breathless. It’s nothing like the previous one, lips barely touching, but it’s strong, it’s passionate, and maybe not what we see in movies, but to them it meant more than anything.

When they finally break for air Mario looks at him like he’s the most precious thing on earth (and to him he is, oh he is) and says: “I’m so glad you kissed me, you silly goose.” They both laugh.

The sun has come up and they won’t be going to sleep. There’s so much time they need to make up for.

 

*

 

“It’s ok.” He says as they stop kissing. It had gone perfect with the touching and kissing part, but now Mario looks unsure as he stands on top of Marco, looking at him hungrily and longingly, but still considerate and careful as if he doesn’t know what to do. “I know it’s you Mario.”

Marco looks beautiful, oh he does. With his flushed cheeks and swollen lips, writhing needily under him and Mario can’t hurt him in any way. So he lets Marco take him instead. He soaks his fingers in lube and Marco closes his eyes waiting for the intrusion that never comes. He hears Mario’s breath hitch above him and he opens his eyes to the most breathtaking view of all. Flushed skin, half lidded chocolate eyes, every inch of his body he can’t wait to explore.

 

It’s beautiful. The pale skin of his fingers grabbing Mario’s hipbones, marking him and making him his forever. Tanned hands over light skinned chest, kisses marked on skin as eternal promises. It’s a melody of lust and trust and love.

Mario moves on top of him in rhythmical pace, chasing both their pleasures as Marco’s hands guard his way towards release.

They worship each other’s bodies with no intentions to hurt, no harm to cause, with nothing but pure want and love, becoming one in pure bliss. And when it’s over they lay together holding each other tight.

There’s much to say, but for once they don’t say it, finding comfort in each other’s warmth. There are gonna be many times like this. This they know for sure.

 

*

 

They graduate at the same time, Mario on medicine and Marco on German and they couldn’t be happier. Mario knows he won’t have the same opportunities he would, had he gone to Munchen, but he couldn’t care less. He has Marco and as long as it is this way, he’ll be happy with whatever life throws towards them. They don’t know what future has planned for them, but whatever it is, they’re ready to face it together bravely.

 

 

And at the birth of the day, when it’s still far too early for anything to be awake, he shyly breathes in his features soaked beautifully in the first light of the day, snuggling closer to his warmth. He feels safe. He’s finally complete.

 

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a playlist for this story (and "I come to you in pieces" as well) with some songs you might want to check out:  
> Red – Pieces  
> Red – Hold me now  
> Red - Yours Again  
> Red- Already Over Part 2  
> Red – Breathe into me  
> Red – Hymn for the missing  
> Red- Let it burn  
> Red – Part that’s holding on  
> Red – Never be the same  
> Trading Yesterday – Shattered (short or long version)  
> Breaking Benjamin – Ashes of Eden  
> Breaking Benjamin – Hollow  
> Egypt Central - Home  
> Damien Rice - 9 Crimes
> 
> I hope you have enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please take a moment to comment and share your thoughts with me, I'd really like to know what you think even if you didn't like it. :)  
> Thank you again for reading. I hope you have a nice day. Stay awesome. :D <3


End file.
